Universe

I was thinking about darkness today and our obsession with it, obsessions with authors such as Bukowski and Burroughs.  I thought long and hard about this and wondered why all the hub-bub.  My theory is that the universe is childlike, yet people wish to feel adult.  To be adult is almost to be godlike.  I don't actually find there to be anything wrong with this ideology.  I, myself, being a writer, crave adulthood.  For some reason adulthood feels both more responsible and less.  We desire independence, i suppose.  And as far as parent-child relationships go, i guess that's healthy.  I just have the half-baked sense that the universe is childlike.  The actuality is probably somewhere in between.  Don't know.

Li-berry

I have visions of memories of the old Library by my parent's place (when they were still together). I don't know why, but for some reason the images pop up. There, outside, along the white brick wall i walk back and forth. There, through the glass front doors with the odd circular handle. There, my dad walking one way (toward the newspapers), and me walking the other (toward the children's section, possibly the young adult section).

One memory i recall walking along that white brick wall was the day i found 20 big ones resting among the gravel between the wall and the building itself. Up until about a year ago, that was the most money i'd ever discovered. It was rather exhilarating.

When i went to the library, i would bury myself in books. I would read and read and read. Sometimes i would even borrow records to play on a little, blue suitcase turntable. It was there i heard my first favorite work of music--classical music. Unfortunately, i still get so confused between composers, i can never remember the actual piece nor who wrote it.

I remember one of my favorite authors i stumbled upon was "Edward Lear". I don't even know if that was his real name. In fact, i've always felt this name was a joke in and of itself, albeit a joke i didn't get. Anyway, Lear wrote what, to my virgin ears, was lewd poetry. I don't remember any specifics, but there may have been some bedwetting. It has been too long.

Speaking of favorites, i had this children's book called, 'Ferdinand The Bull". The story stems from the life of a bull who refuses to fight. In fact, all he wants to do is lay about and smell flowers. I can't remember what happens at the end of it other than that he goes back to sniffing flowers. Peace overcomes war. Happiness prevails. "Where the Wild Things Are" was a wonderful story (exquisite pictures), but as far as messages are concerned, i prefer "Ferdinand".

Anyway, that library has always held a special place in my heart. I'm a little afraid to return to it as i'm sure many renovations have been made and i will be crestfallen to see it in it's new improved form and not the way i remember it. As i recall, shortly after i started college, i never went back.